


Brightly Lit Darkness

by maniacalchimera



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23504524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maniacalchimera/pseuds/maniacalchimera
Summary: A room once filled with darkness still holds its shadows in its corners; and Aeleus thinks they all need a break from it.
Relationships: Aeleus & Even (Kingdom Hearts), Aeleus & Ienzo (Kingdom Hearts), Even & Ienzo (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35
Collections: Radiant Garden Family Exchange





	Brightly Lit Darkness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aliceslantern](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliceslantern/gifts).



The stairs down to the castle basement always seem dark.

Not literally, of course. The laboratory, and therefore the stairwell that leads to it, is incredibly well lit, ceiling lights buzzing with fluorescence. It needs to be, for the delicate projects that occur within it. He’s heard Even complain, more than once, about the difficulties of attaching fingers in dimly lit graveyards. So the lights in the lab burn bright; and it illuminates every shadow.

Aeleus stops about halfway down the stairs to breathe, one hand gripping tightly to the railing. The lab was never truly his place. They all contributed, falling deep into the theoreticals of the heart in late night discussions that lasted until the candlelight flickered low; but when it came down to the science itself, he always preferred fieldwork, the feeling of dirt beneath his boots. He came here with a degree in _geology_ , for Light’s sake. The sterile environment of metal and tile was always stifling, even before… He runs a hand through his hair, carefully controlling his exhale.

Needless to say, he doesn’t like it here.

But he needs to move forward, despite the lingering darkness in the corners, tucked beneath the stairs—despite the whispering that digs its claws into his mind, the phantom echoes of the things he saw, the things he allowed. They do not _exist_ anymore, not outside the confines of memory. The lab is used for brighter purposes, now. He’s not going to walk into a sea of Heartless, or muffled screams; he’s not going to run down the stairs, to see Ienzo on the floor, to see Even, gasping for breath, a blade of silver metal through his chest—

“Okay!” he says aloud, the railing creaking beneath his palm. _“Okay!_ I get it!” His voice produces echoes more solid, easier to focus on. Move _forward,_ he tells himself again. He has a reason to be there, at the bottom of the stairs, a reason more important than anything he did in his most darkest hours. No matter the burning in his chest, no matter the sinking pit in his gut, he needs to enter the laboratory. His hesitance is doing nothing to help the situation.

His hesitance is why no one has left the lab in almost forty hours.

Aeleus stiffens his chin, loosens his grip, and continues down the stairs. He has a job to do, one he’ll do right this time; he is a castle guard, and he is to protect the inhabitants of this palace. Even, and especially, from themselves.

The buzzing of an old radio grows louder as he makes his way to the bottom. They never really used to listen to music while they worked—too distracting, Master Ansem would say. But, according to Even, conditions in the graveyard changed a majority of his working habits—and according to Demyx, the makeshift laboratory in the labyrinth of stone had the best acoustics. Perhaps Even shot himself in the foot, not kicking the boy out; the radio is croaking out staticky love songs that he knows Even used to find too saccharine. They play on as Aeleus finally enters the lab proper.

It’s a sight that he assumes has not changed in hours. Even has goggles on, his hair up in a messy bun, and is bent over the table where the replica lies, scissors in one hand and suturing material in the other. He’s muttering to himself, something indistinguishable over the noise. Ienzo is at the computer, typing. He pushes some of his hair from his face, and though it falls back immediately, it’s out of the way long enough for him to meet Aeleus’s eye. Not so far gone—and thank the Light for that—Ienzo steps back from the keyboard. “Ah,” he says, “hello, Aeleus.”

Surprisingly coherent. Aeleus glances over their workstation, until his eyes fall on the coffee machine they’ve moved down here, and the half-empty pot. Maybe he’s the enabler here, for buying espresso beans. “Good morning, Ienzo,” he says, though it’s after eleven—neither of the two of them know that, he’s almost certain. “How goes it?”

“It goes.” Ienzo picks up a mug from beside the computer, one much more fitting for a man of Dilan’s size, and takes a sip. “We needed to break from transferring the code because of a tear on the replica’s shoulder, so I’m scanning for typos.” He glances at the replica, at Even, and then back to Aeleus. “I’ve scanned it three times,” he says. “Hopefully, Even will be done soon.”

“You cannot rush this type of work, child,” Even huffs. He reaches to rotate one of the goggles’ lenses and doesn’t put the scissors down as he does, bringing them dangerously close to his face. “If this is not securely sealed, we’ll restart the data transfer and have organs leaking out before you can say ‘ _sphenopalatine ganglioneuralgia.’”_

“If you could even say that in the first place,” Aeleus mumbles.

Ienzo sighs and stretches out his arms. His joints crack like popcorn in the microwave and truly, Aeleus despairs of these two. “Pray tell, Even, what organs are going to be coming out of a body’s _shoulder?”_

“Come a little closer, Ienzo, and I’ll give you a demonstration.”

_Despairs_ of them. “Stop threatening our child,” Aeleus says. “When was the last time either of the two of you slept?”

Oh, hm. He had told himself he wouldn’t lead with that, but he supposes the imminent danger of surgical tools being used on living skin has pushed him to desperation. He doesn’t backpedal, instead fixing the sternest of looks onto his face and placing his hands on his hips. He looks at each of them in turn; he _will_ get an answer.

The goggles do too well at protecting Even. He doesn’t miss a beat as he says, “Irrelevant,” and goes back to his sewing.

Ienzo, however, falters slightly. He looks away, back towards the computer monitor, and says, “I took a brief nap, not too long ago.”

Ienzo was never good at lying, growing up. He would always get the guiltiest look in his eyes, the slightest quiver to his lip. Zexion—Zexion lied like a champion, lied to all of them like _they_ were the children and didn’t so much as twitch. It’s interesting, seeing the tics of childhood make their way back onto a face they knew for so long only as devoid of emotion.

It doesn’t make it any more difficult to read. “Not brief enough,” Aeleus says. “I draw the line at twenty-four hours without looking in the direction of your bedroom. Come on, it’s time for a break.”

“A fine idea,” Even adds. “You’ve been working for far too long, Ienzo. Go with Aeleus and the stitching will be done by the time he allows you back.”

Aeleus lifts an eyebrow. “The break is for you too, Even.”

Even pulls the needle tight through the replica’s blank, white skin. “Absolutely not,” he says.

“Finish that stitch,” Aeleus says, “and then put the sharp objects down, so that no one gets stabbed when I pick you up.”

“You would not,” Even huffs.

“He would.” Ienzo takes a couple steps away from the monitor, though his coffee cup comes with. He speaks from experience; there was many a time, while they were waiting for Even to return home, that Aeleus needed to pick Ienzo up and throw him into bed. The only difference is that Even will take two hands. Aeleus assumes that the lack of argument today is in an attempt to keep said manhandling from happening again.

He gives Even a moment to mull over the likelihood that he’s going to be hoisted out of the lab and turns back to Ienzo instead. “We’ll be going outside, to make sure the two of you haven’t yet developed an allergy to fresh air. I sent Dilan out to get lunch and he should be back with it before long. The two of you at least need to eat, if you’re not going to subscribe to a regular sleep schedule.”

Ienzo sighs and looks back towards the body. “Aeleus, there’s so much work to do.”

“And who’s going to do the work once you burn yourself to ashes trying to do it all yourself?” Aeleus frowns at him. “You are not machines. A few hours’ delay to take care of yourselves isn’t going to do any harm.”

“But until we fix this—!” Ienzo whips his head back, and the face hidden behind his bangs really does look so young. “Until I fix this, I don’t deserve—”

Aeleus drops a hand onto Ienzo’s shoulder and squeezes. “Do not,” he says, voice dropping. “Do not even imply that you don’t deserve _rest._ You have done more than anyone here to set things right, to fix wrongs that were never truly your fault, Ienzo. You deserve the world; you deserve rest, a break, and you certainly deserve some pizza before you force yourself back to work.”

Ienzo bites down on his lip, not quite meeting Aeleus’s gaze. He’s quiet; Aeleus can’t tell if he’s trying to concoct some sort of argument, or just trying not to fall apart, after hours upon hours of staring at code in a caffeine-fueled trance. Finally, Ienzo lets out a tired sigh. “…we’re getting pizza?” he asks.

“We ordered it about thirty minutes ago,” Aeleus says.

“If you let Demyx order his stupid pineapple and chicken trash,” Even says, tone quite grumpier than before, “I am removing him and you both from this castle.”

“No one else here eats white pizza with spinach and arugula,” Aeleus argues back, “but I still allow you to live here _and_ I even ordered you a whole pie of it this time.”

“Master Ansem is really the one in charge of who can or cannot live here,” Ienzo mutters, rubbing under his more visible eye.

“I saw that man slice up banana pieces to put on his pizza once so his opinions are no longer considered valid.” Aeleus tugs Ienzo slightly closer to him and looks back over at Even. “Are you finished with that stitch yet?”

Even scoffs and shoves his goggles up onto his forehead. They’ve left awful red marks around his eyes and Aeleus is going to get some ice on that man’s face, regardless of arguments. “Yes, yes, you giant nag,” Even grumbles, “let me just tie it off here.”

That could take five seconds or it could take five minutes, but Aeleus has earned himself at least a cursory agreement to a break from the both of them and he’s not going to continue to argue it more, lest he lose even that. It’s so… _difficult,_ sometimes, reaching out to them. The guilt they carry is different than his—not greater, not less, even though they’ve all spent hours arguing about who has the most to be guilty for, who committed the worst of the crimes they shared. ( _It’s him,_ his subconscious argues once again, _it will always be him.)_ But it’s different and sometimes he feels he could never understand it. And if he can’t understand, if he doesn’t feel the same weight they do, who is he to try to pull them from it, from their almost recklessly tireless work to find some sort of peace with themselves?

Ienzo’s head thumps lightly against his side, and Aeleus looks down. The boy—Light, he really is just a boy, barely twenty now, isn’t he?—has his eyes closed, the coffee mug close to his face. Aeleus shifts, pulling his hand from Ienzo’s shoulder to instead wrap an arm around him and tug him close.

Who is he? He’s their family. This is what family does. All of them are missing pieces and he’s not one who’s ever been good at puzzles; but he can improvise. He’ll at least offer patches in the forms of hugs and food and maybe one day the heavy guilt will dissipate.

Today’s not going to be that day. He knows, it won’t be for ages, for months and months after this final body is gone from their castle and he can shut the door on this lab for good—or at least for a good week until Even starts to argue about chemistry and how he’s tired of doing it in the kitchen. The thought makes him smile in its silliness and that’s what they have to hold onto: their silly little family, with their odd sleeping habits and even odder pizza habits and their love for one another.

“Come on, Even,” he says. “Ienzo’s falling asleep and I can’t carry both of you.”

“M’not falling asleep,” Ienzo mumbles, in a rather sleepy fashion.

Even looks up, makes one final snip, and then sets his tools down. He pulls off his goggles and his gloves and then moves away from the table. “Maybe that was the plan all along,” he says. “You’ll carry him up and I’ll promise I’m following and then I’ll finally be able to get some work done.”

“For that comment, you’re going up the stairs first.” Aeleus gives his shoulder a light shove.

“Fine, fine,” Even sighs, waving him off. “Sustenance for the body is sustenance for the mind and all that. This is only because you got me my pizza.”

“Keep this up and he’s going to chain you to one of the garden chairs,” Ienzo says with a yawn.

Aeleus hums and starts to move the two of them towards the stairs. “Not a bad idea,” he says. There’s a levity in the tone that feels almost rebellious, in this brightly lit place of shadows and darkness; and maybe he won’t banish the shadows entirely today, but he knows, he swears he can at least push back against it, if it’s for them.

**Author's Note:**

> It's a little all over the place, but I hope you like this! This is such a fun family that I enjoyed writing them just talking for a little bit.
> 
> (Disclaimer: No opinions listed on pizza in this work are the author's own. The author has eaten pizza with pears on it and enjoyed it. Nothing is sacred.)


End file.
